


A Twilit Confession

by AfricanDaisy



Series: The Iathrim Chronicles [17]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Doriath, F/M, Family, Father-Son Relationship, First Age, Love, Nobility, Spanking, Strapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 05:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13897251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfricanDaisy/pseuds/AfricanDaisy
Summary: In a direct sequel to A Sunlit Promise, young Lord Celepharn faces the consequences of his defiance and pays the price for his happiness.





	A Twilit Confession

“My lord.”

 

The documents spread out on the desk had so held Lord Celepharn’s attention that he had not even heard the knock on his study door. How far away his play with Neldiel and their sons seemed, though it had been but the day before. He sighed internally, and looked up from the petitions delegated to him by Elu Thingol. The silver haired elleth who had walked into his private room without thought of waiting to be granted admittance dipped her head in obeisance as his emerald eyes met her slate grey. “Marillien,” he acknowledged. He had no rebuke for her. Marillien had served the matrilineal line of Neldiel’s family for generations, following whichever noble daughter was first to marry until finally she had followed Neldiel to Celepharn’s household. She was Neldiel’s through and through, but she had served her lord well too, and had earned the right to walk in on him unannounced. Some of the time, anyway.

 

“I knocked precisely three times on the door with no response. You are not an impolite elf, my lord, so I can only assume that you are tired, overworked, or under pressure. Or, perhaps, all three.” Marillien looked away from the hand that Celepharn raised to silence her, and instead gave his papers a brief but critical glance as if she held them personally responsible for his inattention. “I would suggest my lord takes a moment away from work, but I fear it will have to wait. Lord Gwathion has arrived.”

 

“Was I scheduled to meet with my father today?” Celepharn asked distractedly.

 

Marillien looked exasperated. “After I have sent Lord Gwathion in, shall I see to the hire of a new secretary for you?”

 

“No.” Celepharn sounded equally exasperated. Three secretaries had served him since the establishment of his own household, and only the first had been of any use. She had left his service after nigh on four centuries to write storybooks for elflings, and her successor had been a bright and capable ellon with one unfortunate failing – the ability to charm his way into an elleth’s bodice one day and forget her very existence the next. At best, it had resulted in servants weeping into the wine they were serving their lord and lady, and at worst it had seen Neldiel breaking up a vicious squabble between two of the housekeepers and lecturing them on the merits of sisterhood and friendship versus the wandering hands of one lecherous ellon. As for the third secretary, she had been a stunning example of why it was best for Celepharn to just do everything himself.

 

“No,” he repeated, more vehemently. “Thank you,” he added, to pacify the disapproving elleth in front of him. “Kindly send my father in.”

 

Celepharn was a neat and organised young elf, but still, as Marillien left he gathered the petitions into a pile and straightened his leather bound law books. He tried to see his desk through his father’s eyes, and decided that it was acceptable. It was just as well, because Lord Gwathion strode through the door a moment later. The second son of the Steward was dressed as informally as a senior member of the royal family could be allowed to. His boots of polished leather went to his knees, silver buckles glittering. His leggings were of dark wool, and over a black silk shirt he wore a tunic of cream and gold, slit at the sides. Pearl buttons ran down the front of the tunic, his only real concession to wealth, and an unadorned black belt sat at an angle at his waist. Celepharn rose to greet him. Even married lords owed their fathers respect. “Adar. Were you waiting for very long?”

 

“Not very, once I made it inside,” Gwathion replied dryly. “No sooner had I dismounted than I was accosted and dragged to the barn to see the new born lambs.”

 

“Oropher and Vehiron are very taken with them,” Celepharn said.

 

Gwathion didn’t smile, but his aquamarine eyes sparkled like sunrays glancing off the surface of a still lake. “It was not Oropher and Vehiron who accosted me.”

 

“Ah.” Celepharn had to pause to consider his response. “Neldiel is also very taken with the lambs. I hope you liked them.”

 

“They were the most pleasant lambs I have seen today.” With an idle gesture that wordlessly commanded Celepharn to sit, Gwathion took one of the two chairs positioned in front of the desk. He watched in thoughtful silence as his son and heir obeyed him, and spoke only when the two of them were settled. “As much as I would like to say I came here to discuss sheep, you know I did not. Your aunt visited me this morning. She was upset.”

 

“Which aunt might that be?” Celepharn asked.

 

The sparkle was gone from Gwathion’s eyes as he frowned at his heir. “Don’t be obtuse.”

 

“I’m sorry. That was…not mature,” Celepharn conceded. “I know that Aunt Baraves was displeased yesterday. She warned me that you would hear about it.”

 

“What would you like to say, then?” The younger ellon’s bland expression indicated his disinclination to say anything at all, but his father persevered. “I will hear it from you, hil-nín, unless you wish your aunt to be the only one with a voice in this matter.”

 

Celepharn wondered if his own small sons felt similar flashes of resentment when he ordered them to account for their wrongdoing. “Very well,” he said finally, recognising that he had no choice. “Whilst escorting Aunt Baraves home with Celeborn and Galathil, we heard sounds from off the road. At her behest, I went to investigate. I found my wife playing in a lake with our children. Regrettably, Aunt Baraves had followed me, and she saw the same sight. We had a difference of opinion regarding what was proper and what was not. She thought I ought to put a stop to their play. I disagreed.”

 

“Quite vocally, I heard,” Gwathion remarked.

 

“I did not disguise the fact that I disagreed with her, no, but she made her opinion abundantly clear too,” Celepharn replied. He couldn’t quite hide the contempt that crept into his voice, but he didn’t try all that hard either. “She felt I should punish Neldiel. Of course, she failed to explain _why_ Neldiel deserved punishment, because Neldiel didn’t. I chose not to accept her _advice_ and instead joined my family at the lake. And,” the young lord added, a touch defiantly, “Oropher and Vehiron were pleased to see me, and Neldiel was delighted, and the four of us had a wonderful time together.”

 

The defiance didn’t raise Gwathion’s ire as it might other noble fathers. “I am glad. Truly, I am. It gives me no pleasure to discuss this with you.”

 

“Yes,” Celepharn said quietly. “I do believe that.”

 

Exasperation warred with pride and regret as Gwathion gave his son an intent look. “Your devotion to your family and your morals is admirable, but would it have been the end of all things to do what Baraves wanted? Even if you only made her think she was getting her way?”

 

“Would it have…no, Adar, obviously not,” Celepharn retorted, raising his hands in frustration. “But why should she get her way, or even think that she is getting it? She’s not a child who must be appeased. Am I to disappoint my sons and upset my wife just to avoid offending Aunt Baraves? I should not have to be the villain because she doesn’t agree with my family’s version of happiness.”

 

“I know. It is not fair, it is not right,” Gwathion acknowledged. “But to avoid this? To maintain a harmonious relationship with your aunt and uncle?”

 

The glittering gems in Celepharn’s braids clicked softly as he shook his head. “She told me to control Neldiel. To _control_ her. I will not.”

 

“Nobody expects you to,” Gwathion began.

 

“Nobody but Aunt Baraves, and Aran Elu whenever the mood takes him. And you? You’re here,” Celepharn snapped, rising from his chair as his temper got the better of him.

 

“Sit down, elfling, we are not done,” Gwathion snapped back. His son glared at him, cheeks flushed and shoulders rising with each angry breath until sense got the better of him and he obeyed. Gwathion nodded curtly, eyes hard. “Thank you. Now, allow me to make one thing perfectly clear to you, since clarity of mind is not something that you seem to be in possession of. I am here because Lady Baraves reported your conduct to me, your father. And if, as your father, I was seen to ignore concerns raised by the wife of the King’s eldest nephew, the Steward’s heir, what do you think might happen? Where might she go next? Lord Galadhon? Lord Elmo? Aran Elu? Take your pick, Celepharn.”

 

It wasn’t often that Celepharn’s eyes were lowered, but his father had shamed him into silence and submission. He stared at a faded ink stain on the otherwise immaculate desk. He wished that Neldiel were there now, flicking ink at him to get his attention. The little spot on the desk anchored him, calming him. He took a deep breath, and spoke quietly. “You came here to punish me.”

 

“I must. And you must understand. If I fail to take care of it, you will face Galadhon,” Gwathion replied. “He is waiting outside.”

 

“I see,” Celepharn said numbly. He didn’t see. Not really. But he had to say that he did, because what was the alternative? There was no getting out of it – not that his pride would ever allow him to beg for mercy – and he knew better than to fight, especially when he had already tried the patience of his usually tolerant father. So, in the absence of anything better to say, yes, he saw. He saw, and accepted. He stood slowly, taking his cue from Gwathion, who had risen and moved his chair aside. Celepharn remained where he was though, on his side of the desk where he was safe and it wouldn’t be entirely real until he stepped towards his fate.

 

_Fate_ , he thought, with a self-deprecating sneer. _Call it what it is. Punishment._ His only consolation was that he wouldn’t be going across his father’s knee like an elfling. He thought the shame would have overwhelmed him. He was almost relieved by the sight of Gwathion removing his dark leather belt and doubling it, even as his heart sank when he heard two words he’d not heard for a long time: _come here._

 

Celepharn went, and the irony was not lost on him as he slowly moved to obey his father. Of all the things he had ever imagined using his desk for, his own punishment had not occurred to him. Hard work, yes, a spot that his children could use in a game of hide-and-seek, somewhere for Neldiel to perch while she happily chattered at him about the latest furry addition to their family. But this? Never. He leaned down across the desk, bracing himself on his forearms, and he blushed miserably as Gwathion lifted the back of his silver-and-blue tunic. Even over the desk, that made him feel small. _Not my leggings too_ , he thought, only just managing to keep the words to himself. _Leave them in place. Please._ They stayed up, and Celepharn was grateful for small mercies.

 

The strokes from the makeshift strap, when they came, were half strength. Celepharn remembered that Gwathion could deliver much harder. He didn’t necessarily invite the pain that harder strokes would bring, for he felt no guilt over his actions of the previous day and he didn’t believe that he deserved worse. Even so, the prideful part of him couldn’t help but feel offended by his father’s lack of enthusiasm. The beaded braids hanging over his shoulders reminded him that he was a warrior, not an adolescent elfling feeling his first kiss of the strap. Perhaps he did invite more then, but only so as not to be diminished in the eyes of an ellon he respected above all others.

 

Everything became clear when it was over. “Stay where you are,” Gwathion softly instructed him, setting the doubled belt on the desk.

 

Celepharn stayed, sore and uncomfortable but not unbearably so. He heard the door open behind him, and he didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know who had entered the room. The temperature was all of a sudden glacial. He bowed his head, feeling awfully like that nervous adolescent elfling he had silently scorned just a minute before. Still he stayed in position as his uncle strode to his side and rested a heavy hand on his lower back.

 

“I have made my point, and have nothing more to add,” Gwathion said, quietly but firmly. “My son has learned his lesson, brother.”

 

“I will make sure of it,” Galadhon replied.

 

The next two minutes lasted a lifetime, but it took less than half of that for Celepharn to understand. He knew now why the strokes from before had been half-hearted. He realised that Galadhon had always intended to make his displeasure known. Gwathion had known that, and had done his best to make it so that Celepharn would only have to face some of his uncle’s wrath and not the full force of it. Every swing of Galadhon’s arm made it clear, every hard and loud strike of the strap made Celepharn’s silent vow that he would not cry more and more tenuous.

 

Even the proudest of ellyn have a breaking point, and Celepharn reached his with a stifled cry and a pained arch of his back. Perhaps it would have been over sooner if he had given in more easily. He didn’t know. He hurt too much to care. One final stroke fell, and through a haze of pain he heard the belt being returned to Gwathion. He felt hands on him then that he knew were his uncle’s, raising him to his feet and turning him around. He hastily straightened his tunic before standing back against the desk, reaching behind to grip the edge with both hands so neither of the older ellyn could see them shaking. Bad enough that he had cried, he thought hollowly, fixing glassy eyes on the floor. He would not shame himself further.

 

“You took that well, but be grateful that your father managed the first half. Do not let this happen again.” Galadhon clapped a hand to his nephew’s shoulder, and squeezed lightly. “I will say no more.”

 

“Thank you, uncle,” Celepharn whispered.

 

True to his word Galadhon said no more, and he left as quietly as he had arrived, with just a soft swish of his forest green cloak. As soon as the door closed behind him, Celepharn shut his eyes. He hated the tears that spilled down his cheeks as if they had just been waiting for their chance to betray him. Gwathion’s hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder, but he flinched away from it. It wasn’t personal. He wasn’t angry with his father, though he didn’t look to see if hurt flickered in Gwathion’s eyes. He just needed a moment. The conversation that would surely follow wasn’t something that he felt ready for.

 

“Your uncle would berate me for apologising to you,” Gwathion said quietly, keeping his distance. “But for what it is worth, I am sorry that this happened. I wish it had not.”

 

“I cannot blame you, Adar. You had to. I just, I feel…” Celepharn sighed heavily, looking miserable and defeated, and very young as eloquence failed him. “I don’t know,” he finished lamely.

 

“What is it?” Gwathion asked gently. His son started to turn away, so he caught him by the arm and gave him a small shake, refusing to be shut out. “Don’t do that, elfling. Talk to me.”

 

“I thought…I thought I was doing well. That I was getting it right. Marriage, the children, running my estate, serving the King,” Celepharn admitted in a rush, his voice low and his eyes downcast. “I was wrong. I’m not doing well.”

 

Gwathion didn’t mean to laugh, but he couldn’t help it as he pulled his child into a rough hug. “Thank Eru. I feared you would say something truly melancholy. Celepharn, you made a mistake. Nothing more.”

 

“A mistake that upset Aunt Baraves, and made you and Uncle Galadhon punish me,” Celepharn protested. “How is that getting it right? It’s failing spectacularly.”

 

“No, hil-nín, it is not. Everyone makes mistakes. Even me. Even Galadhon. Even Baraves, but don’t let her know I told you that,” Gwathion said dryly. He drew back and looked fondly at his unhappy son. “You found yourself in a challenging situation, and you did your best to manage it. You are still so young. You are still learning. There is no shame in that.”

 

“But I _feel_ ashamed,” Celepharn confessed reluctantly. “It’s easy for you to say those things. This never happened to you.”

 

“Did it not? One day Oropher and Vehiron will say the same thing about you, and you will know better, just as I know better.” Gwathion put his hand back on Celepharn’s shoulder, and this time there was no flinching away. He gave his son a small, loving smile. “You never saw me flounder. I did not let you see my fears or my failings. That does not mean they never happened.”

 

Celepharn couldn’t help the relief that washed across his face. “Thank you for telling me. That helps.”

 

“You are quite welcome. Now, you need to rest. It wasn’t a suggestion,” Gwathion added, rightly predicting how his words would be taken. The younger ellon nodded reluctantly, and he gave him a kiss of paternal benediction. “Good boy. You will feel better after some sleep.”

 

That was debatable, but Celepharn had no intentions of disobeying. Not now, not after everything. And so, when Gwathion left, Celepharn summoned Marillien and asked her to advise the kitchen staff that he would be absent from that evening’s dinner. After a pause, and a quickly reached decision, he added that he would be grateful if she would see to the hiring of a new secretary – on a strictly probationary basis, of course. Electing to ignore the small but evidently satisfied smile that curved Marillien’s lips, Celepharn finally went upstairs and shut himself away in his sanctuary. He discarded his boots and his tunic, and a soft sigh escaped him as he got into bed. It felt empty and cold without Neldiel. His arms curled around one of her pillows, and he buried his face in it. It was her scent of wild berries and spun sugar that lulled him into a peaceful sleep.

 

He woke to that same scent some hours later, and he knew without looking that Neldiel was there. He didn’t have to look. She had a way of making her presence known even in a crowded room, even when she was the smallest there, even when she said not a word. Celepharn pulled his attention away from her and stared at the covered windows opposite their bed. It wasn’t quite dark, but the slowly setting sun was visible through a small chink in the cobalt curtains. Mid-evening then, he decided, blinking slowly. He never went to bed in the afternoon. At least, not without some influence from Neldiel, and that was never for the purpose of sleeping. He felt disoriented and sore, and it was the soreness that brought it all flooding back in a bitter rush. Of course. It hadn’t all been a cruel and humiliating dream. He exhaled, pressing his face into the pillow. “What do you want, Neldiel?” The words came out muffled, but still more harshly than he had intended.

 

“We missed you at dinner. Oropher and Vehiron wondered where you were,” Neldiel said readily, from somewhere on the other side of the room. “Did everything go well with your father and uncle?”

 

Celepharn lifted his head from the pillow and returned his gaze to the curtains, focusing on the small splash of purple-and-red painted sky he could see between them. It was a pleasing sight, even though a pair of not fully drawn curtains usually annoyed him, like a portrait that wasn’t hung right or a door left ajar. He was peripherally aware of Neldiel crossing the room, the silk of her gown making a _whisk-whisk_ sort of sound as it brushed the floor, and then he sensed her sitting on the other side of the bed. Neldiel couldn’t get away with watching him unobtrusively, because he always felt when her lovely eyes were fixed on him. He could feel them now, and he knew that sky blue and apple green would have darkened with concern to the colours of the deepest ocean and the darkest forest. “I heard you took them to see the new lambs,” he said finally.

 

“Oh, I did. Everyone likes lambs,” Neldiel replied softly.

 

It was no good. Celepharn couldn’t keep his back turned to her. He had to see her smile, the way her face lit up when she spoke of all things fluffy or woolly. Setting aside his wounded pride, he carefully turned onto his other side and looked up at his wife sitting on the bed with one leg curled beneath her. She was a vision of beauty in lavender and silver, her windswept dark hair tumbling beyond her bare shoulders and all the way down her back. He would wager anything that she had taken their little sons to see the lambs after dinner. “What did Adar and Uncle Galadhon think of the latest additions to the menagerie?”

 

“Your father thought they were lovely, and he promised to bring your mother to see them. As for Uncle Galadhon...” A flicker of displeasure crossed Neldiel’s face. “He wanted to know when the lambs will be old enough to roast. I think it was his idea of a joke, but it was still terribly rude and insensitive, particularly as the lambs and their mother were within hearing distance.”

 

With a soft laugh that he truly meant, Celepharn reached out and caught Neldiel’s hand. He drew her down to lie next to him, and she came willingly. “I love you.”

 

Neldiel’s smile reached her eyes. “I know. Tell me again.”

 

Lying side by side, eyes locked, so close that Celepharn could feel Neldiel’s hair brushing his arm and see the exact point her irises shaded from blue to green and back again, he remembered the earliest and most innocent days of their courtship. They had laid like this then, sharing secrets, showing their love not through passionate touch or excited kiss, but by trust and trust alone. Celepharn took a deep breath, and made himself say the words. “They punished me. A strapping.” It took all he had to admit that. Even here. Even to her.

 

“I’m sorry they did that to you,” Neldiel said softly. She did kiss Celepharn then, but it was light and tender. “Was it because of me?”

 

“No. It was because of me,” Celepharn replied.

 

“Because of yesterday?”

 

“Aunt Baraves had some concerns, but they were more to do with my conduct and less with yours,” Celepharn promised. “She wasn’t out to get you this time. It was me.”

 

As Neldiel tucked her head under Celepharn’s chin and pressed close to him, she muttered something about that not being any better. Then in an even quieter breath, she called Lady Baraves a name that Celepharn was fairly sure she must have heard from her worldly and well-travelled youngest uncle, Baralin Ravondirion. Wherever she had heard it, he thought it was probably anatomically impossible. “I feel sorry for Uncle Galadhon and Aunt Baraves,” Neldiel announced then, more clearly. “How can they be happy? Do they even make each other laugh?”

 

“Everyone has different ideas of happiness and love. It doesn’t mean they’re wrong,” Celepharn murmured.

 

Neldiel didn’t draw back from him, but he felt her finger jabbing him in the chest. “Don’t _defend_ them.”

 

“Don’t poke me,” he retorted, giving the sensitive point of her ear a playful nip.

 

“I am cross with them,” Neldiel complained.

 

With a soft sigh, Celepharn tilted his wife’s chin up and gave her a kiss. “I know. But being cross with them won’t change anything or make it better.”

 

“It will make me feel better,” Neldiel informed him.

 

The look Celepharn gave her was reluctant amusement mixed with exasperation, but he had no time to say anything for they were interrupted by a knock on the door. He disentangled himself from Neldiel and got up, straightening his shirt with one hand and smoothing down his hair with the other, all the while doing his best to ignore the throbbing ache left by the combined efforts of his father and uncle. Neldiel just rolled over to face the door and called for whoever-it-was to come in. Whoever-it-was turned out to be Ivoniel, their children’s hazel-eyed nurse. Her dress of dove grey wool was pristine, but her white apron had a few splashes of water on it, which she glanced at ruefully as she spoke. “The bath is ready for Master Oropher and Master Vehiron.”

 

“Oh yes, their…actually, Ivy, would you be a dear and give them their bath tonight?” Neldiel asked. “But tell them Celepharn and I will be along soon to put them to bed.”

 

“Of course, my lady,” Ivoniel replied, dipping into a curtsey for her young master and mistress.

 

As the nurse retreated from the room and quietly closed the door behind her, Neldiel sat up and looked across at her beloved. “You know I don’t judge you for what happened, don’t you?”

 

Celepharn blinked, caught off guard. “I’m sorry?”

 

“Well, it just occurred to me that that’s the sort of proud and stubborn thing you’d think, so we probably ought to address it now before it gets out of hand,” Neldiel clarified. “I don’t judge you or think any less of you just because you…just because that thing happened. It’s happened plenty of times to me before, and you’ve never thought less of me for it. I just wanted to reassure you, that’s all. And now I have.”

 

“Up until half a minute ago, I hadn’t thought anything of the sort,” Celepharn said dryly. “But now you have brought it up…it’s completely different, Neldiel.”

 

A frown briefly crossed her lovely face. “It isn’t at all.”

 

“Of course it is,” Celepharn insisted. “How can you say it’s not?”

 

Neldiel was staring at her husband from across the bed, thoroughly confused, but her expression cleared as she understood. “I see. It’s different because one of us is a _big, strong, mighty warrior_ ,” she said, lowering her voice so it was deep and gruff. “Whilst the other is just a dainty little elleth, delicate as a butterfly,” she finished in a put-on high voice, pressing her hands to her face and fluttering her lashes.

 

“Firstly, neither of us sound a thing like that,” Celepharn retorted. “Secondly, I would never use your choice of words, not least because _you_ are anything but delicate. Having said that, the patriarchal society in which we were born and raised does have some impact on my feelings.”

 

“Well, now you’re just being rude,” Neldiel said, flicking her hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head.

 

Celepharn resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was never a good sign when Neldiel started using her hair to convey her displeasure. He went to her, and pulled her into his arms. “Stop that, minx,” he scolded her softly. “I meant nothing by it. Remember where we call home. Rightly or wrongly, this kingdom holds ellyn and ellith to varying standards and it judges them differently. You know that better than anyone.”

 

It was a debate that could have lasted the night, but Neldiel let it go with a rueful smile and a kiss for her beloved. “Sorry. I should be making you feel better, not starting arguments. I completely blame Uncle Galadhon and Aunt Baraves for all this. I’m still cross with them.”

 

“We can blame them, that is well,” Celepharn agreed, laughing. “But don’t try getting back at them. It will only end in tears.”

 

“What if I-

 

“No.”

 

“How about-

 

“No.”

 

Neldiel drew a breath and let the words tumble out before Celepharn could stop them. “WhatifIgiveUncleGaladhonastatueofasheepforhisBegettingDayandsayitsfromthechildrensohefeelsobligedtodisplayit.”

 

It took a moment for Celepharn to decipher the rush of words, but when he did, he gave in to the renewed urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, you may give Uncle Galadhon a sheep statue for his Begetting Day and say it’s from the children so he feels obliged to display it.”

 

“It will be a perfectly lovely sheep,” Neldiel said sweetly. “I promise.”

 

Celepharn couldn’t help but laugh. “Of that, my love,” he murmured, kissing his beautiful, confounding wife, “I am quite sure.”


End file.
